LOCAL 

Cail. 

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INDEX 


Page 

The  Tramp  .  7 

Coffee  and  . 8 

What  We  Want  .  9 

The  Preacher  and  the  Bare  Facts  .  10 

The  White  Slave  .  11 

The  Internationale  .  12 

Nearer  My  Job  to  Thee  .  13 

John  Golden  and  the  Lawrence  Strike .  14 

Stung  Right  . 15 

Casey  Jones,  the  Union  (?)  Scab  .  16 

There  is  Power  in  a  Unipn-rC^. .  ; .  17 

We  Will  Sing  One  Song  .  18 

Should  I  ever  Be  a  Soldier .  19 

Everybody’s  Joining  It  .  20 


AEROGRAM:— “HELP!  HELP!  WE’VE  HIT  SOMETHING. 


TA-RA-RA-BOOM-DEE-AY. 

Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  1.  W.  W. 

I  had  a  job  once  threshing  wheat. 

Worked  sixteen  hours  with  hands  and  feet, 

And  when  the  moon  was  shining  bright, 
They  kept  me  working  all  the  night. 

One-moonlight  night — I  hate  to  tell, 

I  accidently  slipped  and  fell: 

My  pitchfork  went  right  in  between 

Some  cog  wheels  in  the  thresh  machine. 

Chorus — ■ 

Ta-ra-ra-BOOM-dee-ay, 

It  made  a  noise  that  way, 

And  wheels  and  bolts  and  hay 
Went  flying  every  way. 

The  stingy  Rube  said,  “Well, 

A  thousand  gone  to  Hell,” 

But  I  did  sleep  that  night — 

I  needed  it  all  right. 

Next  day  that  stingy  Rube  did  say, 

“I’ll  bring  my  eggs  to  town  today. 

You  grease  my  wagon  up,  you  mutt. 

But  don’t  forget  to  screw  your  nut.” 

I  greased  his  wagon  for  him,  but 
I  plumb  forgot  to  screw  the  nut. 

And  when  he  started  on  that  trip, 

A  wheel  slipped  off  and  broke  his  hip. 

Chorus — 

Ta-r  a-ra-B  O^M  -d^e-ay , 

It  made  a  noise  that  way. 

That  Rube  was  sure  a  sight. 

And  mad  enough  to  fight; 

His  whiskers  and  his  legs. 

Were  full  of  scrambled  eggs. 

I  told  him,  “That’s  too  bad, 

I’m,  feeling  very  sad.” 

But  then  that  farmer  said,  “You  Turk, 

I’ll  bet  you  are  an  I  Won’t  Work.” 

He  paid  me  off  right  there,  by  gum. 

And  I  went  home  and  told  my  chum. 

Next  day  when  threshing  did  commence. 

My  chum  was  “Johnny  on  the  fence,” 

And,  on  my  word,  that  awkward  kid. 

He  dropoed  his  pitchfork  like  I  did. 

3 


Chorus— 

T  a-ra-ra-  BOO  M-d  ee-ay, 

It  made  a  noise  that  way, 

And  part  of  that  machine 
Hit  Reuben  on  the  bean. 

He  cried:  “Oh  me,  Oh  my, 

I  nearly  lost  my  eye.” 

My  partner  said,  “You’re  right, 
It’s  bedtime  now,  good-night.” 

But  still  that  Rube  was  pretty  wise, 

Those  things  did  open  up  his  eyes. 

He  said,  “There  must  be  something  wrong, 
I  think  I  work  my  men  too  long.” 

He  cut  the  hours  and  raised  the  pay, 

Gave  ham  and  eggs  for  every  day. 

He  gets  his  men  from  Union  Hall, 

And  has  no  “acidents”  at  all. 

Ta-ra-ra-BOOM-de-ay, 

That  Rube  is  feeling  gay. 

He  learned  his  lesson  quick,  . 

Just  through  a  simple  trick. 

For  fixing  rotten  jobs. 

And  fixing  greedy  slobs. 

This  is  the  only  way — 
TA-RA-RA-BOOM-DEE-AY. 


THE  OLD  TOILER’S  MESSAGE. 

Words  by  I;,,  I.  W.  W. 

Air:  “Silver  Threads  Among  the  Gold.” 

“Darling,  I  am  growing  old” — 

So  the  toiler  told  his  wife — 

Father  Time  the  days  have  tolled 
Of  my  usefulness  in  life. 

Just  tonight  my  master  told  me  RBC 
He  can’t  use  me  any  more.  KcU 
Oh,  my  darling,  do  not  scold  me. 

When  the  wolf  comes  to  our  door.” 

Chorus— 

To  the  scrap  heap  we  are  going 
When  we’re  overworked  and  old — 
When  our  weary  heads  are  showing 
Silver  threads  amofig  the  gold. 


1 


THE  TRAMP 

Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  I.  W.  W. 

Tune,  “Tranip,  Tramp,  Tramp,  the  Boys  Go  Marching. 
If  you  all  will  shut  your  trap, 

I  will  tell  you  ’bout  a  chap, 

That  was  broke  and  up  against  it,  too,  for  fair; 

He  was  not  the  kind  that  shirk, 

He  was  looking  hard  for  work. 

But  he  heard  the  same  old  story  everywhere. 

Chorus — 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp  keep  on  a-tramping, 
Nothing  doing  here  for  you; 

If  I  catch  you  ’round  again, 

You  will  wear  the  ball  and  chain. 

Keep  on  tramping,  that’s  the  best  thing  you  can  do 

He  walks  up  and  down  the  street, 

’Till  the  shoes  fell  off  his  feet. 

In  a  house  he  spied  a  lady  cooking  stew, 

And  he  said,  “How  do  you  do, 

May  I  chop  some  wood  for  you?’’ 

What  the  lady  told  him  made  him  feel  so  blue. 

Chorus,  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  etc. 

’Cross  the  street  a  sign  he  read, 

“Work  for  Jesus,”  so  it  said. 

And  he  said,  “Here  is  my  chance.  I’ll  surely  try,” 

And  he  kneeled  upon  the  floor, 

’Till  his  knees  got  rather  sore. 

But  at  eating-time  he  heard  the  preacher  cry — 

Chorus,  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  etc. 

Down  the  street  he  met  a  cop. 

And  the  Copper  made  him  stop. 

And  he  asked  him,  “When  did  you  blow  in  to  town? 
Come  with  me  up  to  the  judge.” 

But  the  judge  he  said,  “Oh  fudge. 

Bums  that  have  no  money  needn’t  come  around.” 

Chorus,  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  etc. 

Finally  came  that  happy  day 
When  his  life  did  pass  away. 

He  was  sure  he’d  go  to  heaven  when  he  died. 

When  he  reached  the  pearly  gate, 

Santa  Peter,  mean  old  skate,  ,  ,  ,, 

Slammed  the  gate  right  in  his  face  and  loudly  cried. 

Chorus,  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  etc. 

7 


COFFEE  AND. 


Composed  by  J.  H.  of  the  I.  W.  W. 

Tune,  “Count  Your  Blessings.” 

An  employment  shark  one  day  I  went  to  see, 

And  he  said,  “Come  in  and  buy  a  job  from  me, 

Just  a  couple  o’  dollars  for  the  office  fee, 

But  the  job  is  steady  and  the  fare  is  free.” 

Chorus — 

Count  your  pennies,  count  them,  one  by  one, 
And  you’ll  plainly  see  how  easy  you  are  done. 
Count  your  pennies,  take  them  in  your  hand. 
Sneak  into  a  Jap,  and  get  your  coffee  and. 

I  shipped  out  and  worked  and  slept  in  lousy  bunks. 

And  the  grub  it  stunk  as  bad  as  nineteen  skunks. 
When  a  week  I  slaved  the  boss  he  said  one  day. 

You’re  too  tired,  you  are  fired,  get  your  pay. 

Chorus. — Count  your  pennies,  etc. 

When  the  clerk  commenced  to  count.  Oh,  holy  gee. 
Road  and  school  and  poll  tax  and  the  hospital  fee. 

But  I  fainted  and  I  nearly  lost  my  sense 

When  the  clerk  he  said,  “You  owe  me  fifty  cents.” 

Chorus. — Count  your  pennies,  etc. 

But  when  I  got  back  to  town  with  blistered  feet. 

Then  I  heard  a  fellow  speaking  on  the  street. 

And  he  said,  “It  is  the  workers’  own  mistake. 

If  they  stand  together  they  get  all  they  m.ake.” 

Chorus. — Count  your  pennies,  etc. 

“Come  today,”  he  said,  “and  join  our  union  grand. 

Who  will  be  a  member  of  this  fighting  band?” 

“Write  me  out  a  card,”  says  I,  “Right  here,  by  gee. 
The  Industrial  Workers  is  the  dope  for  me.” 

Chorus — 

Count  the  workers,  count  them  one  by  one. 

Join  our  union  and  we’ll  show  you  how  it’s  done. 
Stand  together,  workers,  hand  in  hand. 

Then  we’ll  never  have  to  live  on  coffee  and. 

8 


WHAT  WE  WANT 

Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  T.  W.  W. 

Tune,  “Rainbow.” 

We  want  all  the  workers  in  the  world  to  organize 

Into  a  great  big  union  grand 

And  when  we  all  united  stand 

The  world  for  workers  we’ll  demand 

If  the  working  class  could  only  see  and  realize 

What  mighty  power  labor  has 

Then  the  exploiting  master  class 

It  would  soon  fade  away. 

Chorus — 

Come  all  ye  toilers  that  work  for  wages. 

Come  from  every  land. 

Join  the  fighting  band, 

In  one  union  grand, 

Then  for  the  workers  we’ll  make  upon  this  earth  a  paradise 
When  the  slaves  get  wise  and  organize. 

We  want  the  sailor  and  the  tailor  and  the  lumberjacks, 
And  all  the  cooks  and  laundry  girls. 

We  want  the  guy  that  dives  for  pearls, 

The  pretty  maid  that’s  making  curls, 

And  the  baker  and  staker  and  the  chimneysweep. 

We  want  the  man  that’s  slinging  hash. 

The  child  that  works  for  little  cash 
In  one  union  grand. 

Chorus — Come  all  ve,  etc. 

We  want  the  tinner  and  the  skinner  and  the  chamber-maid, 
We  want  the  man  that  spikes  on  soles. 

We  want  the  man  that’s  digging  holes, 

We  want  the  man  that’s  climbing  poles. 

And  the  trucker  and  the  mucker  and  the  hired  man. 

And  all  the  factory  girls  and  clerks. 

Yes,  we  want  every  one  that  works. 

In  one  union  grand. 

Chorus — Come  all  ye,  etc.  j 


9 


THE  PREACHER  AND  THE  BARE  FACTS. 

By  J.  H.  of  the  I.  W.  W. 

Tune,  “Sweet  Bye  and  Bye." 

Long-haired  preachers  come  out  every  night, 

Try  to  tell  you  what’s  wrong  and  what’s  right; 
But  when  asked  how  ’bout  something  to  eat 
They  will  answer  with  voices  so  sweet; 

Chorus — 

You  will  eat,  bye  and  b’^e. 

In  that  glorious  land  above  the  sky; 

Work  and  pray,  live  on  hay. 

You’ll  get  pie  in  the  sky  when  you  die. 

And  the  starvation  army  they  play. 

And  they  sing  and  they  clap  and  they  pray 
’Till  they  get  all  your  coin  on  the  drum. 

Then  they’ll  tell  you  when  you’re  on  the  bum: 

Chorus. 

Holy  Rollers  and  jumpers  come  out. 

And  they  holler,  they  jump  and  they  shout. 

Give  your  money  to  Jesus  they  say, 

He  will  cure  all  diseases  today. 

Chorus. 

If  you  fight  hard  for  children  and  wife —  .. 

Try  to  get  something  good  in  this  life — 

You’re  a  sinner  and  bad  man,  they  tell. 

When  you  die  you  will  sure  go  to  hell. 

Chorus. 

Workingmen  of  all  countries,  unite, 

Side  by  side  we  for  freedom  with  fight; 

When  the  world  and  its  wealth  we  have  gained 
To  the  grafters  we’ll  sing  this  refrain: 

Chorus  of  last  verse — 

You  will  eat,  bye  and  bye. 

When  you’ve  learned  how  to  cook  and  to  fry 
Chop  some  wood,  ’twill  do  you  good,  ’ 

And  you’ll  eat  in  the  sweet  bye  and  bye. 

10 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE 
Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  I,  W.  W. 

Air,  “Meet  Me  Tonight  in  Dreamland.’’ 

One  little  girl,  fair  as  a  pearl, 

Worked  every  day  in  a  laundry; 

All  that  she  made  for  food  she  paid, 

So  she  slept  in  a  box  near  a  foundry, 

An  old  procuress  spied  her  there, 

She  came  and  whispered  in  her  ear. 

Chorus — 

Come  with  me  now  my  girly, 

Dont’  sleep  out  in  the  cold; 

Your  face  and  tresses  curly 
Will  bring  you  fame  and  gold, 

Automobiles  to  ride  in,  diamonds  and  silk  to  wear, 
You’ll  be  a  star  bright,  down  in  the  red  light. 
You’ll  make  your  fortune  there. 

Same  little  girl,  no  more  a  pearl, 

Walks  all  alone  ’long  the  river. 

Five  years  have  flown,  her  health  is  gone. 

She  would  look  at  the  water  and  shiver. 
Whene’er  she’d  step  to  rest  and  sleep. 

She’d  hear  a  voice  call  from  the  deep, 

Chorus — Come  with  me  now,  etc. 

Girls  in  this  way,  fall  every  day. 

And  have  been  falling  for  ages. 

Who  is  to  blame,  you  know  his  name. 

It’s  the  boss  that  pays  starvation  wages, 

A  homeless  girl  can  always  hear 
Temptations  calling  every v/here. 

Chorus — Come  with  me  now,  etc. 


The  French  Syndicalist  said,  “Three  years  that  Arner 
ica  is  the  Land  of  the  Lost  Strikes.’’ 

It  seems  to  me  that  we  are  trjdng  hard  to  live  down 
that  reputation.  Note  McKees  Rocks,  Lawrence,  Gray’s 
Harbor  lumber  mills;  B.  of  T.  W.  (affiliated  with  the  I 
W.  W.)  in  Texas  and  Louisiana  last  fall. 

What  do  you  (French  Syndicalist)  think  of  the  American 
slave  now? 


II 


THE  INTERNATIONALE. 

Translated  by  Charles  H.  Kerr. 

By  Eugene  Pettier. 

Arise,  ye  prisoners  of  starvation! 

Arise,  ye  wretched  of  the  earth. 

For  justice  thunders  condemnation, 

A  better  world’s  in  birth. 

No  more  tradition’s  chains  shall  bind  us, 
Arise,  ye  slaves!  no  more  in  thrall! 

The  earth  shall  rise  on  new  foundations, 

We  have  been  naught,  we  shall  be  all. 

Refrain — 

’Tis  the  final  conflict. 

Let  each  stand  in  his  place. 

The  Industrial  Union 
Shall  be  the  human  race. 

We  want  no  condescending  saviors, 

To  rule  us  from  a  judgment  hall; 

We  workers  ask  not  for  their  favors; 

Let  us  consult  for  all. 

To  make  the  thief  disgorge  his  booty 
To  free  the  spirit  from  its  cell. 

We  must  ourselves  decide  our  duty. 

We  must  decide  and  do  it  well. 

The  law  oppresses  us  and  tricks  us, 

Wage  systems  drain  our  blood; 

The  rich  are  free  from  obligations, 

The  laws  the  poor  delude. 

T^  long  we’ve  languished  in  subjection, 
Equality  has  other  laws; 

“No  rights,”  says  she,  “without  their  duties 
No  claims  on  equals  without  cause.” 

Behold  them  seated  in  their  glory. 

The  kings  of  mine  and  rail  and  soil! 

What  have  you  read  in  all  their  story. 

But  how  they  plundered  toil? 

Fruits  of  the  people’s  work  are  buried 
In  the  strong  coffers  of  a  few; 

In  working  for  their  restitution 
The  men  will  only  ask  their  due. 

12 


Toilers  from  shops  and  fields  united, 

The  union  we  of  all  who  work; 

The  earth  belongs  to  us,  the  people. 

No  room  here  for  the  shirk. 

How  many  on  our  flesh  have  fattened! 

But  if  the  noisome  birds  of  prey 
Shall  vanish  from  the  sky  some  morning, 
The  blessed  sunlight  still  will  stay. 


NEARER  MY  JOB  TO  THEE. 

Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  I.  W.  W. 

Nearer  my  job  to  thee, 

Nearer  with  glee. 

Three  plunks  for  the  office  fee, 

But  rny  fare  is  free. 

My  train  is  running  fast, 

I’ve  got  a  job  at  last. 

Nearer  my  job  to  thee 
Nearer  to  thee. 


Arrived  where  my  job  should  be, 
Nothing  I  see, 

Nothing  but  sand,  by  gee, 

Job  went  up  a  tree. 

No  place  to  eat  or  sleep. 

Snakes  in  the  sage  brush  creep, 
Nero  a  saint  would  be. 

Shark,  compared  with  thee. 


Nearer  to  town!  each  day 
(Hiked  all  the  way). 

Nearer  that  agency. 

Where  I  paid  my  fee, 

And  when  that  shark  I  see 
You’ll  bet  your  boots  that  he, 
Nearer  his  god  shall  be. 
Leave  that  to  me. 


V 


JOHN  GOLDEN  AND  THE  LAWRENCE  STRIKE. 

Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  I.  W.  W. 

Air,  “A  Little  Talk  with  Jesus.” 

In  Lawrence  when  the  starving  masses  struck  for  more  to 
eat. 

And  Woodenheaded  Wood  he  tried  the  strikers  to  defeat. 
To  Sammy  Gompers  wrote,  and  asked  him  what  he 
thought, 

And  this  is  just  the  answer  that  the  mail-man  brought: 
Chorus — 

A  little  talk  with  Golden  makes  it  right,  all  right; 

He’ll  settle  any  strike  if  there  is  coin  in  sight. 

Just  take  him  up  to  dine,  and  everything  is  fine, 

A  little  talk  with  Golden  makes  it  right,  all  right. 

The  preachers,  cops  and  money-kings  were  working  hand 
in  hand, 

The  boys  in  blue,  with  stars  and  stripes,  were  sent  bv 
Uncle  Sam, 

Still  things  were  looking  blue,  ’cause  every  striker  knew 
That  weaving  clothes  with  bayonets  is  hard  to  do. 

Chorus — A  little  talk,  etc. 

John  Golden  had  with  Mr.  Wood  a  private  interview. 

He  told  him  how  to  bust  up  the  I  double  double  U, 

He  came  out  in  a  while  and  wore  the  golden  smile, 

He  said,  “I’ve  got  all  labor-leaders  skinned  a  mile.’’ 

Chorus — A  little  talk,  etc. 

John  Golden  pulled  a  bogus  strike  with  all  his  “pinks” 
and  “stools,” 

He  thought  the  rest  would  follow  like  a  bunch  of  crazy 
fools. 

But  to  his  great  surprise,  the  “foreigners”  were  wise. 

In  One  Big,  Solid,  Union  they  were  organized. 

Chorus  of  last  verse — 

That’s  one  time  Golden  did  not  make  it  right,  all  right. 

In  spite  of  all  his  schemes  the  strikers  won  the  fight,' 
When  all  the  workers  stand  united  hand  in  hand, 

The  world  with  all  its  wealth  shall  be  at  their  command. 


i 


STUNG  RIGHT. 


Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  I.  W.  W. 

Air,  “Sunlight,  Sunlight.’’ 

When  I  was  hiking  ’round  the  town  to  find  a  job  one  day, 
I  saw  a  sign  that  thousand  men  were  wanted  right  away, 
To  take  a  trip  around  the  world  in  Uncle  Sammy’s  fleet, 

I  signed  my  name  a  dozen  times  upon  a  great  big  sheet. 

Chorus — 

Stung  right,  stung  right,  S-T-U-N-G 

Stung  right  strung  right,  E.  Z.  Mark,  that’s  me. 

When  my  term  is  over,  and  again  I’m  free, 

There’ll  be  no  more  trips  around  the  world  for  me. 

The  man  he  said,  “The  U.  S.  fleet,  that  is  no  place  for 
slaves. 

The  only  thing  you  have  to  do  is  stand  and  watch  the 
waves.” 

But  in  the  morning,  five  o’clock,  they  woke  me  from  my 
snooze. 

To  scrub  the  deck  and  polish  brass  and  shine  the  captain’s 
shoes. 

Chorus. 

One  day  a  dude  in  uniform  to  me  commenced  to  shout, 

I  simply  plugged  him  in  the  jaw  and  knocked  him  down 
and  out, 

They  slammed  me  right  in  irons  then  and  said,  “You  are  a 
case.” 

On  bread  and  water  then  I  lived  for  twenty-seven  days. 
Chorus. 

One  day  the  captain  said,  “Today  I’ll  show  you  something 
nice. 

All  hands  line  up,  we’ll  go  ashore  and  have  some  exercise.” 
He  made  us  run  for  seven  miles  as  fast  as  we  could  run, 
And  with  a  packing  on  our  back  that  weighed  a  half  a  ton. 

Chorus.  .  ,  c. 

Some  time  ago  when  Uncle  Sam  he  had  a  war  with  Spam, 
And  many  of  the  boys  in  blue  were  in  the  battle  slain. 
Not  all  were  killed  by  bullets,  though,  no,  not  by  any 
means. 

The  biggest  part  that  died  was  killed  by  Armour  s  Pork 
and  Beans. 

Chorus. 


15 


CASEY  JONES,  THE  UNION  SCAB 


Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  I.  W.  W. 

The  workers  on  the  S.  P.  line,  to  strike  sent  out  a  call 
But  Casey  Jones,  the  Engineer,  he  wouldn’t  strike  at  all; 
A  *  j  holler  It  was  leaking  and  his  drivers  on  the  bum 
And  his  engine  and  his  bearings  they  were  all  out  o’  plumb. 

Chorus — • 

Casey  Jones  kept  his  junk  pile  running, 

Casey  Jones  was  working  double  time 

Casey  Jones  got  a  wooden  medal 

For  being  good  and  faithful  on  the  S.  P.  line. 


The  workers  said  to  Casey:  “Won’t  you  help  up  win  the 
strike.?’  ^ 

But  Casey  said:  “Let  me  alone,  you’d  better  take  a  hike.” 

^  bunch  of  railroad  ties  across  the  track 
And  Casey  hit  the  river  with  an  awful  crack. 

Chorus — 

Casey  Jones  hit  the  river  bottom, 

Casey  Jones  broke  his  blooming  spine 
Casey  Jones  was  an  Angeleno; 

He  took  a  trip  to  heaven  on  the  S.  P.  line. 


When  Casey  Jones  got  up  in  heaven  to  the  pearly  gate 
^^freigL”^’  Jones,  the  guy  that  pulled  the  S.  P. 

You  re  just  the  man,”  said  Peter,  “our  musicians  went 
on  strike; 

So  you’ll  get  a  job  a-scabbin’  any  time  you  like.” 


Chorus — 

Casey  Jones  got  a  job  in  heaven, 

Casey  Jones  was  doing  mighty  fine, 

Casey  Jones  went  scabbing  on  the  angels 
Just  like  he  did  to  workers  on  the  S.  P.  Line. 


The  angels  got  together  and  they  said  it  wasn’t  fair 
For  Casey  Jones  to  go  around  a-scabbin’  everywhere. 
Ihe  Angels  Union,  No.  23,  they  sure  “were  there” 
And  they  promptly  fired  Casey  down  the  golden  stair. 
Chorus — 


Casey  Jones  went  to  Hell  a-flying 
“Casey  Jones,”  the  devil  said,  “Oh,  fine! 

Casey  Jones,  get  busy  shoveling  sulphur. 

That  s  wat  you  get  for  scabbing  on  the  S.  P.  line  ” 


16 


; 

THERE  IS  POWER  IN  A  UNION. 

Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  I.  W.  W. 
Tune,  “There  is  Power  in  the  Blood.” 


Would  you  have  freedom  from  wage  slavery, 
Then  join  in  the  grand  Industrial  band; 
Would  you  from  mis’ry  and  hunger  be  free, 
Then  come!  Do  your  share,  like  a  man. 

Chorus — 

There  is  pow’r,  there  is  pow’r 
In  a  band  of  workingmen, 

V/hen  they  stand  hand  in  hand. 

That’s  a  pow’r,  that’s  a  pow’r 
That  must  rule  in  every  land — 

One  Industrial  Union  Grand. 


Would  you  have  mansions  of  gold  in  the  sky. 
And  live  in  a  shack,  way  in  the  back? 

Would  you  have  wings  up  in  heaven  to  fly. 

And  starve  here  with  rags  on  your  back? 

Chorus — There  is  a  power,  etc. 

If  you’ve  had  “nuff”  of  “the  blood  of  the  lamb,” 
Then  join  in  the  grand,  Industrial  band; 

If,  for  a  change,  you  would  have  eggs  and  ham. 
Then  come,  do  your  share,  like  a  man. 


Chorus — There  is  a  power,  etc. 

If  you  like  sluggers  to  beat  off  your  head. 
Then  dont’  organize,  all  unions  despise. 

If  you  want  nothing  before  you  are  dead, 
Shake  hands  with  your  boss  and  look  wise. 


Chorus — There  is  a  power,  etc. 

Come,  all  ye  workers,  from  every  land, 
Come  join  in  the  grand  Industrial  band, 
Then  we  our  share  of  this  earth  shall  dema 
Come  on!  Do  your  share,  like  a  man. 
Chorus — There  is  a  power,  etc. 


San  DieRo  seem  to  think  that  they  have 
\V.  Beat.  Just  watch  San  Diego  ai;d  you  v 
grass  growing  on  the  street. 

17 


WE  WILL  SING  ONE  SONG. 

Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  I.  W.  W. 

Air,  “My  Old  Kentucky  Home.” 

song  of  the  meek  and  humble  slave, 

The  horn-handed  son  of  the  toil. 

He’s  toiling  hard  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 

But  his  master  reaps  the  profits  from  his  toil. 

Tl^n  we’ll  sing  one  song  of  the  greedy  master  class. 

They  re  vagrants  in  broadcloth,  indeed, 

Thel  live  by  robbing  the  ever-toiling  mass. 

Human  blood  they  spill  to  satisfy  their  greed. 

Chorus — 

Organize!  Oh,  toilers,  come  organize  your  might; 

Then  we’ll  sing  one  song  of  the  workers’  commonwealth, 
Full  of  beauty,  full  of  love  and  health. 


We  will  sing  one  song  of  the  politician  sly. 

He’s  talking  of  changing  the  laws; 

Election  day  all  the  drinks  and  smokes  he’ll  buy. 
While  he’s  living  from  the  sweat  of  your  brow’s. 
Then  we’ll  sing  one  song  of  the  girl  below  the  line. 
She’s  scorned  and  despised  everywhere, 

While  in  their  mansions  the  “keepers”  wine  and  dine 
From  the  profit  that  immoral  traffic  bear. 

Chorus. 


We  will  sing  one  song  of  the  preacher,  fat  and  sleek. 
He  tells  you  of  homes  in  the  sky. 

He  says,  “Be  generous,  be  lowly,  and  be  meek. 

If  you  don’t  you’ll  sure  get  roasted  when  you  die. 
Then  we’ll  sing  one  song  of  the  poor  and  ragged  tramp. 
He  carries  his  home  on  his  back; 

Too  old  to  work,  he’s  not  wanted  ’round  the  camp. 

So  he  wanders  without  aim  along  the  track. 


Chorus. 


„  one  song  of  the  children  in  the  mills, 
taken  from  playgrounds  and  schools, 
rs  made  to  go  the  pace  that  kills, 
tshops,  ’mong  the  looms  and  the  spools. 

'll  one  song  of  the  One  Big  Union  Grand, 
the  toiler  and  slave, 

;  it  is  sweeping  sea  and  land, 
of  the  grafter  and  the  knave. 


SHOULD  I  EVER  BE  A  SOLDIER. 

Words  by  J.  H.  of  the  I.  W.  W. 

Tune,  “Colleen  Bawn.” 

We’re  spending  billions  every  year 
For  guns  and  ammunition,  ' 

“Our  Army”  and  “our  Navy”  dear, 

To  keep  in  good  condition; 

While  millions  live  in  misery 
And  millions  died  before  us, 

Don’t  sing  “My  Country  ’tis  of  thee,” 

But  sing  this  little  chorus. 

Chorus — 

Should  I  ever  be  a  soldier, 

’Neath  the  Red  Flag  I  would  fight; 
Should  the  gun  I  ever  shoulder. 

It’s  to  crush  the  tyrant’s  might. 

Join  the  army  of  the  toilers, 

Men  and  women  fall  in  line. 

Wage  slaves  of  the  world!  Arouse! 

Do  your  duty  for  the  cause. 

For  Land  and  Liberty. 

And  many  a  maiden,  pure  and  fair. 

Her  love  and  pride  must  offer 
On  Mammon’s  alter  in  despair. 

To  fill  the  masters’  coffer. 

The  gold  that  pays  the  mighty  fleet. 

From  tender  youth  he  squeezes. 

While  brawny  men  must  walk  the  street 
And  face  the  wintry  breezes. 

Chorus — Should  I  ever,  etc. 

Why  do  they  mount  their  gatling  gun 
A  thousand  miles  from  ocean, 

V>/'here  hostile  fleet  could  never  run — 
Ain’t  that  a  funny  notion? 

If  you  don’t  know  the  reason  why. 

Just  strike  for  better  wages, 

And  then,  my  friends — if  you  don’t  die — 
You’ll  sing  this  song  for  ages. 


Chorus — Should  I  ever,  etc. 


